The World's Worst Silmarillion Poem
by The Battling Bard
Summary: The tragic tale of Feanor and the Doom of the Noldor. Like The Lays Of Beleriand, only worse.


Disclaimer: Like 'The Lays of Beleriand'. Only rubbish.

* * *

Long ago, in a 'verse called Ea,

There lived an Elf, who was really quite Fae.

What is his name! I hear you cry,

his name was Feanor, this is no lie.

Child of Finwe and Miriel,

Arda's very first Firiel.

He consumed her from the inside out,

Of this there is but little doubt.

For Eru's light burned in him,

In fact, I shall go out on a limb,

and say Nay!

Immortal life was given away!

For quite a while Finwe mourned,

during this time, Feanor got quite bored.

What about me! He would often say,

while in Lorien, Miriel did lay.

Upon a time, Finwe was called,

By Ingwe, most fair Lord.

King of the Vanyar, yes he was,

concerned although still at a loss.

Hoping to pull him out of his mood,

Finwe went to visit his brood,

Under the shade of Teniquetil,

he found some peace on that fair hill.

For strolling up a path one day,

He happened on a maiden, or so they say.

Indis the Fair, this was her name,

Feanor thought she was quite a pain.

For marry yes indeed they did,

at this news Feanor swiftly hid.

For grieving still for his mother,

he had no love for Finwe's other.

Four fair children that pair had,

though Finwe was not a very good Dad.

Neglect his children, indeed he did,

For Feanor, though he flipped his lid.

This is how his life was torn asunder,

and how he made a very great blunder,

Some called him mad,

some called him bad.

But he was certainly trapped,

as a matter of fact.

He took to wife Nerdanel the Wise,

some would say a very strange prize.

For fair his wife was certainly not,

although he thought she was really quite hot.

With hair of red, and skin quite ruddy,

little did she know his end would be bloody.

Seven great sons she bore to him,

and all did commit some cardinal sins.

Here their names are sindarised,

for from my memory, cannot be prized,

their first names given upon their birth,

this could cause some merry mirth.

Here in no particular order,

Are Feanor's sons,

unabridged with no border.

Maedros there was, and Celegorm fair,

this may be his face, or just his hair.

Amrod and Amras, the hunter twins,

they really had some lovely pins.

Caranthir the dark, and Curufin skilled of hand,

though not on sea, only land.

Last I name Maglor the singer,

for he really was a mighty bringer,

of songs so great, he was no minger.

Back to our tale I shall go,

for outside my window, it is starting to snow.

Once upon a fateful day,

Feanor pondered a genius way,

to capture the light of Laurelin,

and so does this tale really begin.

Eventually the Silmarils he did craft,

when finished all he did was laugh,

for fairer than those jewels was naught,

not even in Tiffany's could any be bought.

At first show them off he did,

in this he really was quite glib.

Blazing brightly in the light,

They were a pretty spectacular sight.

Morgoth released, he spread many lies,

among the Noldor, supposedly wise.

The Teleri and Vanyar would not give ear,

but their tale shall not be told here.

Many quarrels Feanor had with his brother,

the son of Indis, and not his mother.

Fingolfin was his mighty name,

Feanor thought he was callous and vain.

Morgoth seeing much dissention,

decided to teach them both a lesson.

He sowed the seed to think of weapons,

Swords and banners and arrows, heavens!

He whispered to Fingolfin and Finarfin his brother,

Feanor planned to attack them because of their mother.

To Feanor Morgoth cruelly told,

They wanted to leave him out in the cold.

Feanor becoming exceedingly proud,

Spoke out against the Valar a bit too loud.

Fingolfin spoke against his brother,

before the throne of his Father and Mother.

Feanor pushing among the throng,

heard these words and thought them quite wrong.

Then Morgoth's words seemed justified,

though they not be truth, and only lies.

Then in a mighty fit of rage,

far belying his ripe old age,

he pulled a long sword across his chest,

and held it against Fingolfin's breast.

Though Fingolfin did not come to any harm,

Still there was a great alarm.

For never had a weapon before,

been pulled on those great holy shores.

Before the Valar Feanor was called,

For judgment, though he deserved to be mauled.

To exile Feanor was eventually sent

With him seven sons and Finwe went.

The Kingship was left to Fingolfin his brother,

who ruled wise and well with the help of his mother.

But Morgoth wanted his cake, and to eat it too,

Excuse me but I must go to the loo.

He wanted the Silmarils, this was his aim,

he though it would simple as a child's game.

But Feanor's mighty mind did pierce,

his true intentions and became quite fierce.

'Get thee gone jail-crow of Mandos!' He did cry.

He saw right through Morgoth's great lie.

Morgoth exposed, he fled in fear,

Causing Manwe to shed many tears.

For the same in Eru's thought they were,

before Morgoth did greatly err.

A day of festival, indeed it was,

And all of Valinor was a buzz.

But very little did they know,

darkness was coming to bring new low.

To this day, angry Feanor was called,

Though this caused his fists to ball.

During that fair and happy day,

Darkness came and swept away,

all light and joy in that fair land,

coming as quickly as a crushing hand.

For Morgoth and Ungoliant coming fast,

stole Feanor's jewels right to the last.

Standing alone at the mighty doors,

Finwe was slain as a wild boar.

Consuming light was Ungoliant's aim,

and this would bring her the greatest fame.

The light of the Two Trees she did seep,

causing all of Valinor to weep.

Mad with grief our Feanor was,

for his beloved father's untimely loss.

Here Feanor made his greatest folly,

Dooming the Noldor who before had been jolly.

A dark and dangerous speech he made,

To Middle-earth were the Noldor bayed,

to take vengeance on Morgoth the weaver of woe,

And many indeed desired to go.

But further even Feanor went,

He made an oath which to Eru was sent,

To regain the Silmarils whatever the cost,

Through elf, or man or Vala if must.

At once his sons sprang up to his side,

They were never ones to run and hide.

They called on themselves everlasting darkness,

if they failed in their mission,

here ends the transmission.

* * *

Next time in 'The World's Worst Silmarillion Poem', the thrilling tale of the flight of the Noldor!


End file.
